


all i do is dream of you

by westminster



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: (like a lot), 5+1 Things, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, content warning for trauma/symptoms of depression etc, i promise it has a happy ending though!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28613208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westminster/pseuds/westminster
Summary: When things get a little too much for Hawkeye, he hides. BJ is always there, kneeling beside him. Like the answer to a prayer he never said.(or, five times bj comforts hawkeye, + one time hawkeye comforts bj.)
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 5
Kudos: 56





	all i do is dream of you

**Author's Note:**

> (title is a song from singin' in the rain) hi! i'm very new to the MASH fandom and haven't fully finished the show yet so apologies for any inconsistencies, i just needed to write about these two!! you might have to take this fic with a pinch of salt but hopefully you enjoy it!

**one.**

BJ's pretty clued up when it comes to Hawkeye's behaviour. When you spend your life glued to another person, that sort of sixth sense comes naturally. BJ knows, from a certain lilt in Hawkeye's tone, or from the way he slouches his back, when Hawkeye's off. _Off_. Perhaps that's not the right term. The war's clouded his language: he sits up at night sometimes, desperately trying to remember the word for something that had once been so familiar. It's a sadness with Hawkeye, that underlines all his actions for a few days until it dissipates. Anyone else wouldn't pick up on it. BJ does. BJ does every time.

He can tell Hawkeye's going through it now: hair a little scruffier, a redness to his eyes, the usual signs. So BJ has been keeping a closer eye on him than usual, bringing him tea and taking over a few of his scheduled surgeries - if he notices, he doesn't bring it up. So when BJ spots a small patch of blood on Hawkeye's knee, blood that clearly is his own, he takes it upon himself to fix the problem. BJ crowds him when Hawkeye is sat on his bunk, lost in his own thoughts.

"Let me take care of that," BJ says, his voice little more than a whisper. The implication, _let me take care of you_ , hangs in the air, unspoken. Hawkeye remains silent: no invitation, but no rebuttal either. His legs are skinny enough, and the trousers so ill-fitting, that BJ can roll them right up past his knee, exposing the injured area. It's only the smallest of grazes, but BJ likes taking care of Hawkeye, and hopes Hawkeye might like his touch too.

BJ dabs a little antiseptic on the wound, cleans the dirt and blood from the area. Hawkeye throws his head back, eyes close, throat exposed to the world. The tent is dim and an evening cool begins to drift in, allowing Hawkeye's shoulders to relax slightly. BJ would usually put a band aid on but supplies are scarce around here, and he can't justify using one on such a minor injury - not even for Hawkeye. So he drags the process out a little too long, dabbing and dabbing when there's no longer any antiseptic to rub in. But Hawkeye looks calmer than BJ has seen him in a while. His head is still tipped back, mouth wide open as he breaths in and out deeply, naturally. There is a calmness that rests around the two men, thick like the hot Korean air. But calm is only ever temporary, quick and heavy and gone before you can wrap your fingers around it. BJ hears footsteps come close and it gives him reason to sever contact with Hawkeye.

BJ stands up, slowly, knees aching from kneeling in front of Hawkeye for so long. _A small price to pay,_ he thinks as he meets Hawkeye's gaze. He doesn't exactly smile, but the sentiment - the thanks - is there, crystal-clear for BJ to see.

"Better," BJ says before leaving to return the medical supplies. It's a statement, not a question. A question has too much expectation to it.

**two.**

It should be a routine mission. A supply dump to a close village. Near, quick, _safe._ Hawkeye and Radar are selected. They go, no questions asked, no eyebrows raised, an easy morning. An easy morning until the jeep fails half way back. Hawkeye and Radar are possibly the two worst men in the unit for this to happen to. It takes the both of them to get the hood open, and one look makes it clear there is nothing they can do. The path back takes hours in the mid-day heat. The ground is wet and uneven; it is impossible to avoid the thick mud the cars have upturned.

"Just a little bit of dirt," Hawkeye says to reassure Radar. _To reassure Radar._ Hawkeye takes another step and ends up ankle-deep in mud. He prays the wet on his face is sweat and not tears. He's just walking home. He catches himself each time he uses that word. It feels like poison in his mouth. He stares at the sun: the walk will be long and arduous. He looks back at Radar. Time to crack a joke.

When they finally make it back, a crowd forms around them. They're only two hours later than expected, but two hours is enough to sign a death certificate around here. Radar is happy to have the attention on him, grins as the pretty nurses fawn over him. It gives Hawkeye the opportunity to slip off, away from the eyes of the entire unit. He's only been sat down for a moment when BJ comes in, a bowl of warm water in one hand and a cloth in the other. BJ kneels before him once more, undoes the other man's laces, takes off the heavy, stained boots, the socks that are wet and cling to Hawkeye's skin. Hawkeye opens his mouth to begin a protest, but he can't find the words, too tired... they both know he needs this, wants this. They no longer have to bother with the pleasantries.

When the hot cloth first touches Hawkeye's skin, he thinks he might cry. BJ's touch is light, maternal. He hasn't been touched like this in so long. Forever, maybe. When did affection become a precursor to sex and nothing else? When was he last touched without the expectation of reciprocation? He watches the dirty water pool at his feet, watches the mud disappear under BJ's careful hand. Hawkeye's never been one for religion but here? In the depths of Korea, in the dim corner of their tent? It feels like a baptism, like holy water running down his leg, water that - in BJ's hands - has the power to cure him, even if it is just for a little while. BJ wrings the cloth out and gives Hawkeye's skin one final wipe down. He takes the bowl, the cloth and leaves, just as silently as he came. Hawkeye does not deserve to be cared for like this, he thinks.

**three.**

For two days now, Hawkeye has been avoiding the mess tent. BJ normally treads carefully when Hawkeye changes his behaviour, afraid of making him feel shame. But one lazy afternoon they're reading besides each other, spreading warmth through the other's body from where their knees touch. BJ had given up trying to process the words in front of him a while ago: Hawkeye is twitching and fidgeting too much to concentrate. The tapping and clicking gets under BJ's skin, which is maybe why when Hawkeye's stomach makes a large noise, he snaps and drops his book on his chest.

"You're starving yourself, Hawk. Come to the mess tent with me. Please."

Hawkeye freezes for a moment, and BJ immediately regrets speaking. BJ has never seen Hawk look this vulnerable, mouth agape and red cheeked. Just as BJ thinks Hawkeye might be about to cry, he grins so wide it must ache and slaps BJ on the shoulder.

"Beej, I know for a fact that they're serving up slightly rotted liver today. No amount on soap can get that smell outta your body, you should be thanking me mister."

BJ attempts a half-hearted laugh, too distracted by the glimpse he got behind Hawkeye's facade for a fleeting moment. He doesn't want to push Hawk any further, so he grins at the other man, a smile as genuine as he can possibly make it. He is rewarded with another grin from Hawkeye, more real than the last. BJ leaves to give Hawkeye some space, taking a walk around the base to clear his mind.

On the way back, he slips into the mess tent, empty apart from a nurse he's on good terms with. He gives her a wink and slips behind the counter, plating up the most 'edible' food he can find, lukewarm soup. It's a horrible clear grey colour, but it's definitely not the worst thing they've had to eat here.

BJ walks the long way back, eager to avoid any eyes that catch him sneaking the bowl into his and Hawkeye's tent. Hawkeye is dozing when he returns, but sits straight up when he hears footsteps. One of the side effects of spending so long in a war-zone.

"Beej?" he says, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"You won't go to the mess tent so I brought the mess tent to you. Even stole the best of the bunch. Unidentifiable gray soup. Doesn't that sound hearty?"

Hawkeye sighs and stares at the ceiling. BJ decides to persevere. He throws a cushion on the floor next to Hawkeye's bunk, sits on it carefully as to not spill the soup.

"Come on, Hawk," BJ says, soft and warm, "open up."

And Hawkeye does. How could he not? He swallows like the liquid is fighting against his throat, heavy. BJ cannot avert his eyes from Hawkeye's neck, watching pale skin, the bob of his Adam's apple as the soup slides down his gullet. BJ feeds him slowly, lets him recover from each mouthful. He feels like a mother bird feeding her baby. He's half way through the soup when Hawkeye mewls as he curls his lips around the thick wooden spoon. BJ nearly drops the bowl. Nearly. BJ gets into a nice rhythm, relaxing as mouthful after mouthful slides down Hawkeye's throat. After the last remnants disappear, BJ places the bowl on the floor. He's about to leave, right on the verge to get up to return the bowl when something catches his eye.

There's a bit of soup gathered around the corner of Hawkeye's mouth. Hawkeye remains unaware. His eyes are closed so he cannot know how BJ stares and stares at that spot, unable to avert his gaze. It's too tempting, he can't help himself. BJ's hand hovers over Hawkeye's face. He presses his thumb against the corner of Hawkeye's mouth, smears the liquid to Hawkeye's lips. And he opens up for BJ, lets BJ's thumb slide into his mouth. Hawkeye swirls his tongue around the tip of BJ's thumb, gathering the small bit of soup that's there. BJ can't think, can't move, can only sit there and watch Hawkeye lap at his thumb like a cat.

He manages to regain autonomy - after how long he cannot say - and extracts his thumb from Hawkeye's mouth. He wipes the wetness Hawkeye has left on the back of his other hand. Hawkeye still does not open his eyes. They remain closed as BJ leaves the tent, left with only his thoughts for company on the walk back to the mess tent.

**four.**

BJ holds the clipboard in his hand and wants to scream. He's been looking at these charts a good five minutes now, but it's too cold for his brain to process any of the words. He's wearing layer upon layer today, nearly his entire wardrobe, and he still thinks he might freeze to death. He's tempted to crawl into bed with one of these patients. The covers are certainly thicker than the ones in his bunk.

His thoughts are cut off by a tap on the back from Major Houlihan. She raises an eyebrow and looks over to the other side of the room, where Hawkeye and two nurses are prepping for routine surgery. BJ checks his mask and gown are secured, before joining Hawkeye.

"Scalpel," Hawkeye says, concise, straight-laced: the only time his tone is rid of its usual lightness. BJ obeys.

But when Hawkeye takes it, poises it over the soldier's skin, he falters. Cold metal meeting colder hands. BJ whispers his name, low and strained. _Hawk._ The scalpel lands on the floor with a clatter. Hawkeye flees to the adjacent section of the tent, where the thick curtains can hide his form.

BJ is by his side in a flash, gripping his friend's shoulders, leaning as close as he can get.

"Hawk. Hawkeye. What happened out there?"

Hawkeye won't look at BJ, eyes darting everywhere but BJ's face. BJ forces himself impossibly closer to Hawkeye, nose again nose. The mist that forms when they exhale mingles in front of their faces.

"S'Cold," Hawk says lethargically, like each word is draining him. "No feeling in my fingers. Can't operate like this."

Hawkeye holds his hands tightly together, presses them fiercely against his chest like a small child. BJ covers Hawkeye's hands with his own and begins to rub life back into them. His touch is rough and harsh: what Hawkeye needs in this moment. BJ sweeps his hands across Hawkeye's knuckles, smiling when he notices Hawkeye's posture relax slightly. BJ pries each finger out of Hawkeye's fists one by one, warming them up in his heavy palm. Once he's satisfied with his job, Hawkeye's hands a little redder with life, he lets them go. They remain stagnant in the air, and Hawkeye's brows furrow as his fingers twitch slightly.

"Still can't move them. It's hopeless."

"Oh, don't give up on me just yet. You know me Hawk, always got a few more tricks up my sleeve."

"If you've managed to fit a hot water bottle up that sleeve of yours, then maybe I'll listen."

BJ chuckles and takes Hawkeye's hands in his own again. This time, he lifts them up until they are in front of his face. Before Hawkeye can process what is happening, BJ blows onto the other man's skin, hot breath on his fingers. BJ continues and Hawkeye lets him, blowing warm air onto every inch of skin he can find. He gets greedy, gets too close to Hawkeye's flesh and when Hawkeye's hand shake, BJ's lips land on Hawkeye's skin. BJ's instinct is to jump away and flee, but he fights it, keeps his warm lips on Hawkeye and looks up for approval. Hawkeye smiles, discreet but genuine and BJ's heart skips a little in his chest. BJ drags his lips up and down Hawkeye's fingers, applying as little pressure as he can. It is just his lips touching Hawkeye's skin, not a kiss, BJ reminds himself. Keeps himself in check. 

After a minute or two, BJ stills. He looks up at Hawkeye, waiting for instructions. Hawkeye begins to move his fingers, cups BJ's chin and rests his thumb in between BJ's lips. Hawkeye's smiles once more at BJ, "Thank you. I'm ready now. Thanks to you. Because of you."

BJ watches him walk away and then closes his eyes. He brings his own thumb to his lips and grins like a madman, remembering the way Hawkeye felt in his mouth.

**five.**

"God, Beej, I've been reading so long I think I've got permanent ocular damage."

Hawkeye shoots up, sat bolt upright, the first time he's put the book down in a few hours. His mouth is wide and BJ puts his letters away, leans towards Hawkeye.

"Do y'think I could get a discharge for this? The words are flying all over the page. What good's a doctor who can't read his patient records?"

BJ chuckles, "You'll be alright in the morning. Maybe slow down on the trashy romances for the time being, okay?"

"Hey!" shouts Hawkeye, face pulled in mock-anger, "It's the tragic story of a young woman defying the constraints of Edwardian England. It's _powerful_ , BJ. And I have to finish this chapter or I will throw a tantrum."

"It's late enough, Hawk. When that siren inevitably goes off early tomorrow morning, you'll be cursing yourself for staying up so late."

"It's two pages. Not even that. Read it to me?"

BJ sighs, he's exhausted and should've gone to sleep long ago. But Hawkeye asking him, trusting him with his crappy romance novels, wanting to hear BJ's voice as he retreats into the world of the novel? He can't let that opportunity slide through his fingers.

"Fine. But this is solely so I can make fun of you," BJ says, but there is no malice in his voice. It is clear to both men his remark is only to save face.

BJ crosses the tent, dragging a chair and placing it next to Hawkeye's bunk. He slides the book out of Hawkeye's grip and flops into the chair.

"Start from the fourth paragraph, Beej. The one that talks about the Duke's estate."

BJ finds the part Hawkeye is referencing, and begins to read. His voice is a low and quiet lull, just loud enough to be heard by Hawkeye, but by no passing soldiers. The paragraph is a fairly normal description of a country estate: lots of windows, lots of grounds, lots of servants. The obvious. BJ thinks it's rather dull, but Hawkeye is hanging onto his every word. Hawkeye basks in the moment, hands tucked under his head. His eyes are closed and there's a smile playing on his lips, like he could be in the Bahamas right now, like a bomb couldn't drop at any given moment, like he's certain that siren will never sound again. BJ might find this novel boring but Hawkeye's reaction is worth every word.

He gets past the exposition, and now tells Hawkeye that Emily, the main character, has been cornered in the drawing room by Sir Geoffrey. Hawkeye lets out a little gasp at that, and BJ blushes. He made that happen. Well, technically, E.R. Maynard made that happen, but BJ provided the voice for their words, so he's giving himself some credit. BJ continues, raises his voice slightly as the tension between the characters increases.

_"An apology begins to form on Emily's lips. Perhaps her etiquette wasn't quite up to scratch, perhaps her dancing had not matched that of the ladies from a more noble background, perhaps she had embarrassed poor Sir Geoffrey without even realising it. She was very certain she'd unknowingly made some grand, horrible mistake. Sorry, she said, promising she would not cry, because that would only further embarrass Sir Geoffrey. "Sorry?" boomed the other man, "Why dear girl, it is I who should be apologising." She looks up at him, eyes wide and wet like a doe. "I have been cruel," he continues, "hiding the nature of my affection towards you. The truth is, I care for you deeply. I do not want to know life without you in it. I have no great skill in speech, but you must know - you must know you are the only happiness there is for me. It all comes back to you. I see you everywhere, when I walk through this house, the grounds, the city. It's all you. Emily. Sweet Emily. Would you provide me the honour of becoming your husband?"_

Hawkeye is wide awake now, eyes as wet as Emily's, staring at BJ intensely.

"And?'

"And what?"

"What does she say?" Hawkeye says, then gets a little louder, "Beej, what does she say?"

BJ grins, "You, my friend, have been the victim of a cliffhanger. That's the end of the chapter. One chapter, that was the deal."

Hawkeye whines, _actually whines,_ and for a moment BJ feels guilty. Not guilty enough to put himself through another chapter of this, though. He shushes Hawkeye before he can launch a proper protest. Hawkeye lies back, eyes shut, arms tightly folded in anger. BJ laughs to himself and puts the book back, folding the corner of the page down. Hawk might kill him for that later, he thinks, and laughs quietly again. He's about to go back to his own bunk but his steps falter. He ignores his better sense, and returns to Hawkeye's side. BJ leans down and pulls the covers over Hawkeye, patting the blanket around Hawkeye's sides. Hawkeye relaxes his arms and snuggles into the warmth, but doesn't open his eyes. BJ takes this as a sign to push things a little further, threads his fingers through the mop of gray hair and gives it a little scratch. He pets Hawk like a kitten, and Hawkeye lets a small moan of contentment slip from his lips.

"Feels nice," Hawkeye mumbles sleepily.

BJ chuckles and forces himself to move his hand away. As a parting token, he leans down and kisses Hawkeye on the forehead. He's kissed Hawkeye there before, in celebration or in jest. But this time it's different. Perhaps because that's what his mother would do to send him to sleep as a child, read him his favourite story, tuck him in, pat his hair and then kiss his forehead. Intimate. Familiar. He misses her so much. He turns around before whispering _sweet dreams_ to Hawkeye, so Hawkeye can't see the tears on his face.

**+one.**

When Hawkeye finds BJ, he is in the chapel alone. He's one his knees with his head in his hands, but Hawkeye knows he's not praying. They realised there was no God out here a long time ago. Father Mulcahy has gone to see the local children, so the cold floor of the tent is the perfect hiding place.

Hawkeye whispers his name, gently, like he's trying not to scare away a wounded animal. BJ looks up and presses his palms against the ground ready to flee. Something in Hawkeye's stare stops him, maybe it's the sincerity, and he bows his head back down in shame.

Hawkeye approaches him slowly and places a hand on BJ's back. The touch, the comfort is enough to make BJ howl. The sound is something gross and inhumane, and Hawkeye can't help but throw himself to the ground besides BJ, to cover him with his own body.

BJ rises, kneels so that they are facing each other. He takes Hawkeye in his arms and squeezes tightly, like he's terrified that Hawkeye might slip through his fingers.

Finally, BJ finds himself able to speak, his words are said through short, quick breaths, he falters and trips up, unable to compose himself but Hawkeye still hangs onto every word.

"I can't do this anymore. I can't stand another day here, another day of this. I can't see another dead body. That boy - he couldn't have been more than nine years old. Nine years old and tomorrow his mother will bury him. I thought I could save him - I could've - I could've took that shrapnel out - I don't know why he didn't make it - I did something wrong - I must've - his blood is on my hands-"

Hawkeye shushes him calmly, cradles his skull in his hands, presses his lips to his head, "You couldn't have done anything more. You're the best surgeon I've ever worked with. It's a horrible tragedy, Beej, but don't put it on yourself."

"Life doesn't mean anything out here. We don't mean anything, and the Koreans mean even less than us. I can't do this anymore."

Hawkeye leans backwards, forces BJ to look into his eyes and grabs his jaw.

"You mean everything to me, you idiot. You are the only thing that keeps me going. If I live for you, will you live for me?" BJ tries to look away but Hawkeye just grips his jaw even harder, voice growing louder, _"Will you live for me, BJ?"_

BJ lets out another howl and presses his forehead against Hawkeye's. His arms are still wrapped around Hawkeye's shoulders, so tightly, like he's trying to mould himself into Hawkeye's flesh. _i will live for you,_ he says, quiet but strong, _i will live for you. i will live._

They part after a while, but don't manage to get far away from each other. Hawk cradles BJ's jaw in his palm, much tender than before. They stand there, nose against nose. Their chests move against each other, breathing deep and heavy.

Hawkeye smiles, and it feels like _godliness._

"Do you remember what Sir Geoffrey said to Emily?" he says, and there's a light in his eyes that BJ has never seen before, _"You must know you are the only happiness there is for me. It all comes back to you. You, Beej."_

BJ could cry, "Does that make me Emily?"

"Only if I can be your knight in shining armour."

"You always have been," BJ answers, " _always_."

And what else can Hawkeye do, when they are so close, so intimate, but press his lips against BJ's, the lips he now realises he has wanted to kiss for so long. It feels almost inevitable, the way BJ kisses back so perfectly, like they were always destined for this ending. BJ tastes so good, manly, earthy, so different to the pretty girls he's spent his life chasing. It feels surreal, the little piece of happiness and pleasure they have created in this cocoon. The war still goes on, but it goes on outside, it cannot penetrate the safe place they have crafted for themselves today. BJ kisses Hawkeye like it's the last thing he'll ever do, greedy, like Hawkeye will throw him off at any moment so he has to take all that he can. He slips a tongue into Hawkeye's mouth, swallowing him, trying to force himself inside the other man, become less him and more Hawk, like he's always wanted. He laughs into the kiss, because this feels like heaven, he doesn't spend a second questioning the morality of his actions because _why would it be sinful if he feels this holy?_ In Hawkeye's arms and with Hawkeye's lips touching his, he has never felt closer to God.

Hawkeye breaks the kiss, trying to regain his breath. BJ can't help himself, he chases after Hawkeye immediately but Hawkeye moves away. BJ's shoulders slump and he tries not to look disappointed, _It was just temporary comfort. Nothing more._ Though BJ has never been good as hiding his emotions, and his sadness is as clear as day. It kills Hawkeye to see him like this so he gives BJ a quick kiss for reassurance.

"Don't want Father Mulcahy walking in on this. Come with me. Come back to the Swamp. I think everyone might leave us alone for now, might be only opportunity for a bit peace we get. Spend it with me?"

"Will you kiss me again if I follow you?"

"Of course," Hawkeye says before taking BJ's hand. Their fingers slot together like magnets, and Hawkeye marvels at how right someone's hand can feel in his. Maybe Korea isn't so bad after all, maybe he'll stick around.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, any comments and kudos are really appreciated!


End file.
